


Cold

by Shinsun



Category: Free!
Genre: Hospitals, Hypothermia, M/M, M/M Fanfiction Based Off 1800s Classic Literature, Undressing That Doesn't Lead to Sex, Vague Sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinsun/pseuds/Shinsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru comes to Makoto's door, freezing cold and deliriously sick, barely able to stand.</p><p>This fic features loose Crime and Punishment parallels...without the actual...crime, and punishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I think that's the shortest summary I've ever written. Yeah so there's this one dialogue scene in Crime and Punishment between Raskolnikov and Razumikhin that kind of twisted my heart, and even though it's kind of hard to tell I even based this fic off that brief conversation, it took a lot of work to set up right and paraphrase so it sounded believable for these characters. I've been trying to get back in the swing of writing things, and the Free! fandom is a lot more fun to write for than I'd originally thought. I may have more Makoharu fics in store...except longer, with more...you know, plot.

It was just as well that his vision was blurry, because Haru didn’t want to look at anyone. His hands were shaking, badly, but he wouldn’t have taken them out of his pockets even if they weren’t. He couldn’t see where he was going. Could only focus on the fuzzy black shadows he was pretty sure were his own feet, numb and heavy; they didn’t feel attached to his legs, but at least they were moving, slowly, pressing against the sidewalk that felt like shambling dunes of an endless desert for all the solidity he felt like he was standing on.

He wasn’t even cold. Shivering from head to toe, teeth clacking together from chattering, and yet he felt submerged in a strange balmy glow of heat, almost soothing in contrast to the chill of early spring, and yet irritating for all its impracticality. He had a feeling he shouldn’t be warm, considering…

It had been getting rather difficult to think; even breathing came with its small share of annoying challenges, like getting air past the swollen, sticky mass of his tongue, pressing heavy and imposing in his mouth, forced whistling through stinging nostrils that only allowed for shallow exhales. The process had become monotonous, but it was still entirely too much effort to keep filling and emptying his burning lungs like this, in and out; it was supposed to be the easiest thing in the world.

He was hot, now, unbearably so...but he didn’t sweat, and his damp jacket offered no relief from the dry, oppressive burn, chafing like sandpaper against his aching skin. He couldn’t muster the energy to try to take it off. All his willpower was going into putting one solid lead brick in front of the other, making his way to a destination he couldn’t really analyze right now.

He almost tripped when he reached the front steps. Fumbling blindly for the railing he hoped was somewhere nearby, he tried to feel his way up the first few stairs, staggering and nearly face-planting once again as he clumsily cleared the first one. The rest of the journey to the top was arduous, torturous, and he was sure he should at least have broken a sweat by the time he finally struggled over the last step -- still nothing. Dry as a bone and thirsty, so desperately thirsty, but he didn’t think he could swallow. His mouth and throat felt like they were full of sand.

He’d barely raised his hand to knock before the door swung open, and he was promptly tackled by two tiny, shrieking balls of energy and apparent desperate distress, wailing and clinging to his legs, and making the task of staying on his feet just that much more difficult. Ren and Ran were talking over each other, about how they’d _missed_ Haru-chan and how he _never_ came by to visit anymore and how _boring_ their big brother was being, cooped up in his room with midterms looming on the horizon and never having time to play with them. Somewhat dazed, Haru just stumbled past the threshold and the stubborn, noisy obstructions tangled around his ankles, assuming he was being allowed entry as he hadn’t been kindly shooed away by their dearly beloved mother yet.

Sayuri Tachibana did give him pleasant greeting; Haru could hear the smile even if he didn’t look up to see it, and he stammered out some garbled mess that he supposed could pass for a response.

“Here to see Makoto?” she asked sweetly, “He’s studying in his room, bless his heart, but I think it is about time for him to take a break.”

Haru just nodded absently, attempting to dislodge the persistent burdens from his shaking legs. Taking his cue, Sayuri bent to scoop up the twins, prying them off Haru’s shins with practice, and he could picture her giving him another gentle smile.

“You look a little flushed,” she said, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Fine,” Haru mumbled, “It’s...cold out.” He didn’t think he would ever feel cold again, despite his chattering teeth and shaking limbs, he felt like he had been set on fire, his skin melting, destroying muscle and nerve endings and leaving blackened, crumbling debris in its wake. He felt like a gust of wind would blow him away like ash.

“I’ll send up some tea for you both in a bit, then,” Sayuri offered, “That should warm you up.”

“That’s...fine,” Haru slurred, already starting down the hall, remembering to throw a subdued “thank you” over his shoulder before leaving.

He didn’t even bother knocking when he reached Makoto’s room, just swinging the door open and all but collapsing inside, holding onto the doorknob desperately as if it would keep him standing.

Makoto was at his desk, absorbed with writing something in a notebook, several textbooks in disarray before him. He looked up the moment Haru started to enter, however, confusion turning to surprise, and then delight as he leapt to his feet.

“Haru!” he exclaimed, snatching his reading glasses -- Haru felt dull flicker of amusement at the sight -- off his nose and starting towards him as if for a hug, before checking himself, hands fluttering indecisively before he clamped them to his sides. He settled for beaming to show his enthusiasm instead. “I haven’t seen you in _days_ where have you been? Ah! Sit down, sit down, don’t mind my mess…I haven’t really had a chance to clean...”

Haru didn’t say anything, sitting heavily on the edge of Makoto’s bed, glad to take his weight off his feet, and glad that he finally seemed to have stopped shaking from head to toe. His skin felt like it was prickling all over.

“Haru?” Confusion reinstated, Makoto looked him up and down. Haru didn’t typically exercise the same zeal that Makoto did upon greeting him, but he supposed it wasn’t like him to ignore him entirely. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

One of his hands reached up in a flash, making as if to feel Haru’s forehead, but Haru pushed it away. “Don’t…” he said, “I’m...fine...I came because...I don’t have the notes for…but I don’t need any notes, I just…”

“...Haru,” Makoto said insistently, looking him full in the face, “You’re not well, let me…”

“I am,” Haru protested, shoving to his feet, “I’m fine.” He swallowed and started for the door, unable to stay in Makoto’s concerned company. He hadn’t thought about actually having to face him, when he’d found himself on the familiar route to his house. He’d just wanted...he didn’t know what he wanted.

“You’re leaving?” Makoto asked, alarm raising the pitch of his voice, cracking it. He reached for Haru again.

“Don’t --! Just...” Haru said dazedly, holding up a hand in warning, “Leave me alone, I…need to be alone. Please.”

“Why did you come here, then?” Makoto demanded frantically, “What are you...Haru, please, don’t go back out there like this, you…” He trailed off, looking at Haru with pleading eyes.

“I...came because…” Haru slurred, trying to puzzle it together for himself even as he tried to relay it to Makoto, “I thought you would…you’re...I mean, I don’t know anyone else who’d… B-but I don’t need your help. I don’t need anything!”

“Look...look, Haru, at least --” Makoto broke off, holding out an open hand as if telling Haru to stay put, turning and rifling through the mess of items on his desk, knocking several objects such as pencils and erasers and at least one textbook to the floor, “At least let me give you something, some cold medicine, some aspirin, anything!”

Rushing back to Haru’s side, Makoto pressed a bottle of pain relief into his hand, meeting his gaze emphatically. Haru closed his hand absently on the medicine and turned again to leave.

“Haru --!” Makoto all but shouted, grabbing his shoulder and wrenching him back around. His eyes widened with shock, “You’re soaked…”

Haru glanced down at the aspirin in his hand, as if only then comprehending what he’d been given, and then reached up to take Makoto’s hand off his shoulder, placing the bottle in his palm. “I don’t want...medicine…” he muttered vaguely, stepping back.

Makoto dropped the bottle, not even sparing it a glance, and reached out to take Haru’s hand, dragging him back into his room. “Haru, please -- god, your hands are cold -- _please_ sit back down...what happened?”

 _“Nothing,_ ” Haru insisted, absently letting himself be guided back to sit on the foot of the bed. His surroundings were starting to distort again, the room seeming to spin and smear together into a haze of color, blending Makoto into the walls as he stood over him, “I was just...going for a swim, I just…”

“A _swim?_ ” Makoto echoed, voice driven nearly to a tight squeak by now, sounding horrified, “It’s barely five degrees out! Where were you…? I...never mind, let me just...get you out of those wet clothes, you must be _freezing…”_

Haru shook his head, bracing an arm on the mattress for balance as he felt himself tip with the momentum. Makoto, apparently not in the mood to argue with him any further, reached out and slowly wrestled Haru’s damp jacket from his arms, tossing it aside and barely hesitating a moment before peeling his shirt off as well, uncovering irritated, mottled red skin. Haru heard him suck in a breath between his teeth, and then felt a tentative touch on his upper chest, searing like a live match, before the hand quickly withdrew, as if Makoto was the one who’d been burned.

“Y-your skin’s like ice…” Makoto said shakily; Haru half-expected him to break down and start crying. “I...just h-hold on, we...we need to get you warm again.”

“I’m fine,” Haru all but snapped, the fuse of his patience burning dangerously low.

“You’re not.” Makoto said, sounding calmer right then than in all the time that Haru had been there. And he left it at that, placing a hand against Haru’s chest and gently pushing him to lie down on his back. Mechanically, he undid the button and zipper of Haru’s pants and tugged them off his legs, inciting a wince of pain as the material chafed his raw, sensitive skin.

“Oh -- Haru, ohmygosh I’m sorry, did I hurt you? I didn’t think --”

“No.” Haru sighed, recognizing that resistance was pretty futile at this point, fixing his wavering gaze on the ceiling as Makoto slowly removed his jammers, handling them much more delicately than he’d handled the pants. He thought he might have seen him flushing, when he glanced down, but he didn’t know if it was embarrassment -- which was rather unlikely; they’d seen each other undressed before many times -- or shame for causing Haru pain and inconvenience. It was a little hard to be sure...in fact, it was a little hard to be sure of anything, at the moment.

His vision was swimming -- quite literally, it felt like he was submerged in water, unable to breathe -- he wanted to thrash, move his legs, propel himself to the surface to breathe, but he only sank, unable to move or resist as Makoto guided his arms and legs into soft tunnels of fabric, and then dragged him up to rest against the pillows, pulling a fuzzy fleece blanket and at least two heavy comforters over him and tucking him in fastidiously. He was speaking the entire time, in a soft undertone, but Haru could barely understand him anymore. There was a rushing in his ears, muffling Makoto’s voice and everything else. He thought he caught the words “hot water bottles” and “doctor”, and then there were retreating footsteps thudding away, getting fainter, leaving Haru practically smothered in blankets, bundled up like a cocoon. He wrinkled his forehead uncomfortably. Too hot. He was burning up. Irritated, he kicked the comforters off his legs, then shimmied away from the fleece blanket, panting for breath and stretching out. A little better. Bearable, anyway. He was conveniently lying down, and very, achingly tired, but he didn’t think he could sleep. It was just as well. He figured Makoto would need to sleep in his own bed to get a good night’s rest after studying so hard, and he didn’t want to rob him of that.

  
***

Makoto returned to Haru with a nice, toasty hot water bottle under each arm, phone sandwiched between his cheek and shoulder as it rang. His mother had given him a concerned glance when she caught him flitting about filling said water bottles, only growing more pronounced when he’d asked if she had any extra blankets or if they could heat up some towels. He’d mentioned at her prompting that Haru was feeling a little under the weather, and that he’d seemed cold, but he didn’t let on the suspicion he was harboring that it was more serious than that. Both because he didn’t want her to worry if it was nothing, and because he wanted it to be nothing. He wanted to be wrong.

He couldn’t get the sensation of touching Haru’s sopping jacket, then his flushed, frozen skin, out of his head. He was as cold as death and drenched to the bone, and yet he hadn’t been shivering at all. That...well, he didn’t want to think too much about that. He did want to consult a health professional just to be safe, though. Someone who knew what they were doing when it came to this sort of thing.

Maybe it was nothing. It had been pretty cold out today, maybe Haru had just caught a chill. But then, why was he all wet? He might have fallen in a puddle, or done one of his compulsive, desperate dives into the nearest body of water -- sometimes he stretched the term to include everything from fish tanks to drinking glasses -- but still...something seemed...off about him. He looked so tired, and so...lost, in a way, like he didn’t even know where he was or what he was doing.

He rounded the corner and entered his room, as he heard the pre-recorded voice on the phone tell him to please hold for a receptionist, and his eyes landed on Haru, still in his borrowed, slightly-oversized neon green pajamas, sprawled out on his back on the bed, apparently having kicked off the covers in his state of delirium. Shaking his head to himself with mild dismay, he approached him and placed a hot water bottle on either side of him, reaching down and pulling the blankets back up to his chin. Haru didn’t seem to protest this time; he didn't even move. _Good, he’s sleeping...maybe he’ll feel better when he wakes up._

He pressed a hand gently to Haru’s forehead, moving back his silky bangs with only minimal unnecessary stroking, and frowned. He was still really cold. Like _really_ cold. And his breathing was shallow, almost nonexistent, to the point where Makoto had to check that he even _was_ still breathing, holding the hand in front of his mouth and nose to feel the light puffs of cool air against his palm, watching his chest barely rise and fall.

At last the hospital’s receptionist picked up the phone, and he received a polite greeting, a thanks for his patience, and a request for his reason for calling.

He hesitated, then tried to explain that he had a friend he thought was very sick, and he wasn’t sure what he should do.

“Are you trying to set up an appointment then?” The receptionist asked, “Our hours are from --”

“No, no, I need to get him looked at now,” he clarified, “Something could be really wrong.”

“Sir, if this is an emergency, please hang up and call 119.”

Makoto sighed, the pre-recorded message had already told him as much. “I don’t think...it’s an _emergency_ , I just don’t know --”

“Well, what symptoms is your friend exhibiting?”

Makoto bit his lip, “He’s...his skin is really cold, and red...his clothes were wet so I got him in some dry ones, and he seemed...confused, earlier. Now he’s just resting, but he’s still freezing and he’s barely even breathing and --”

“If he was exposed to extremely cold temperatures, it’s possible he could have hypothermia,” the receptionist said, “Was he shivering? Slurring his speech or stumbling? Making any erratic decisions?”

“I...yes. I mean no, he...I don’t think he was shivering at all, which seems weird, and he was acting like you said, but now he’s just…”

The receptionist’s voice lost a good deal of its friendliness, turning hard and business-like, “If his body isn’t trying to warm itself up, his condition could turn very serious. Is he unconscious?”

“I….don’t know. He is breathing, but he hasn’t moved at all since I got back.”

“Have you tried getting a response from him?”

Makoto tried, taking the phone down from his ear and addressing Haru by name softly, then louder when he didn’t stir or open his eyes. Panic setting in, he only resorted to touching, shaking his shoulder urgently, when he still received no response.

  
He almost fumbled and dropped the phone as brought it back to his ear, “H-he’s not responding,” he stammered, trying to keep the terror out of his voice.

“Then this constitutes as an emergency. Please hang up and --”

Makoto had done so before she’d even finished speaking.

 

***

 

A bright light flashed directly in Haru’s face as his eyes squinted open, and then the shadows around his head faded and he was floating, surrounded by soft white clouds. Weightless, slowly spiraling through space.

 _Great. I’m dead, and it turns out heaven’s...really really boring._ He’d imagined his own personal heaven as a little more...wet. And blue. Maybe an endless sparkling ocean he could plunge through effortlessly forever, and never have to come up for air. Salt water, cold and deep and dark as an uncut sapphire, gleaming brilliantly and moving under a permanently cloudless sky. He closed his eyes, trying to envision it. Kind of shame he couldn’t be there. Also kind of shame that he’d died, but that wouldn’t have been such a bummer if he’d been allowed to swim in his afterlife. He doubted whoever was in charge up here even had a pool.

After perhaps a moment or perhaps an eternity, he opened his eyes again, but this time, instead of indistinct white planes surrounding him, he was faced with a pair of shocking green eyes. Said eyes immediately widened to saucer-like proportions, and muzzily Haru took in the rest of Makoto’s face, a couple inches from his own.

“M-muh?” he got out.

“Haru!” Makoto gasped, and disoriented as he was, Haru picked up the enormous weight of relief in his voice, “Oh god, thank god, you’re okay! I was so worried!”

“Wha…?” Haru slurred, utterly nonplussed.

But Makoto, it seemed, was on a roll here, speaking frantically and so rapidly it was a wonder Haru understood anything that was being said to him, “I mean I know the doctor said your vitals were fine now and your temperature’s almost normal but you just looked so pale and still and you wouldn’t wake up and I thought you might’ve...I mean not that I...I just…” He blinked at Haru imploringly, “You are okay, aren’t you?”

“I...don’t...know?” Haru said, like it was a question. “What happened?”

And Makoto was off like a shot. “Well yesterday you came to my house and you were really cold and kind of sick so I got you in bed and called the doctor and then you were unconscious and they said to bring you to the hospital because it sounded like you had hypothermia so I did and they said you _did_ have hypothermia because you’d _jumped in the ocean fully clothed when it was practically freezing outside!_ Haru, why would you do that? Don’t _ever_ do that!”

Haru looked at him, “I don’t...remember…”

Makoto’s expression immediately softened from the stern glare he’d been fixing Haru with, seeming to melt his entire body completely, “It’s okay. You just...really gave me a scare. I was up all night waiting for you to wake up. The nurse said she practically had to chain me to the front desk to keep me from coming to see you when you weren’t allowed visitors.” His voice took on a hint of amusement, but it still cracked, and his expression was still heavy with exhaustion and stress.

“But...you have...midterms…” Haru didn’t care one whit about midterms, but he knew Makoto did, and that he shouldn’t be depriving himself of sleep even a few weeks before.

Makoto shook his head, “I would miss them entirely if it meant keeping you safe. Haru...you’re more important than any test, don’t you know that?”

Haru was unable to avert his gaze at the moment, so he closed his eyes. He could feel words, in their thousands, rising in his throat like bile, but was unable to force any of them out except: “I’m sorry.”

Makoto sighed softly. “It’s okay,” he reiterated, understanding coloring his voice.

“You should...sleep,” Haru prompted, eyes flitting open to meet the concerned bright green ones.

Shaking his head fondly, Makoto placed a hand on the white hospital bed, fingertips brushing against Haru’s own, “Haru...I’m fine.” He paused a moment, then gave a dry laugh, “I mean, I wasn’t the one who decided to go for a swim outside before it’s even May.”

“You don’t understand,” Haru grumbled, but the statement lacked heat, as he found he was able to cross his arms moodily, which meant some motor control was returning to him. He didn’t think anyone was ever going to understand his fixation with the water, with being submerged in it, the way it called to him and smoothed down the problems and imperfections of everything it touched. The way it grounded him; threatened his life and made him feel safe and comforted at the same time.

“No,” Makoto agreed, as if sensing his line of thought, a small, somewhat wistful smile crossing his face as he rested it against his folded forearms, “I don’t.”

 

-Shinsun

 


End file.
